


Over and Under: Collection of Original short stories.

by ChatoyantDwarf



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Horror, M/M, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Original Works - Freeform, Science Fiction, historical fiction - Freeform, short storys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChatoyantDwarf/pseuds/ChatoyantDwarf
Summary: When I have writers block, often I want to begin a completely different story. With that comes wicked idea's that I fall in love with, but I know with the amount of work already up on my profile, I'll never be able to finish all of them. So welcome! I present an original work post filled with spur of the moment short stories that often cure my writers block! Dive into worlds of centaurs, romantic vampires, and the tale of a detective that lives twice! I hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoy writing them, they really are something.





	1. If mirrors held perfection

**Author's Note:**

> For so long I've only ever dabbled in curing my writers block, and finally I think I've found a solution! Each story has a sense of personality and care behind it, and each idea is inspired and webbed into my own so I ask you all kindly not to take or inspire works off of mine without asking. I'm not a scary person, and if you'd like to turn one into a full fledged series or "book", approach me and I will gladly talk to you! UNTIL FUTHER ADUE!

The night sky spiraled out of proportion as our backs lay against the cold pavement of the lofts roof. We couldn't tell whether the wind against our faces where supposed to be chilling us, or if there was any wind at all, the night was so calm. It was as usual habit for us to come up here. Before I move on, I feel it necessary to disclose the fact that I am in fact what you all would call a vampire. Yes, I had fangs as you would expect, and yes mirrors did not work. Why you ask? Beats me, I'm sure there's some scientific explanation behind it all, but I'll spare you. Ginne and I had been friends for quite some time. We met in the winter garden near the park at midnight, chasing the same squirrel down the towns walk path. She thought me a drunk local, but with some talking and awkward conversing, I reassured her I was not. She was a city girl, and like me, a vampire. 

We started talking through late night coffee runs, having the moon just right on our backs as we sat against the window, our reflections never seen against the clear glass. As we talked more and more, we grew a liking to each other. Every night, we'd meet at the fountain in the park and make our walks, long and memorable. You get to really know a girl the longer you talk to her. Apparently she was born a vampire, just as I. It was rare to find anyone like us, but we laughed and made our peace. 

Jelly filled donuts became something we'd give to each other as a joke. The jelly was like the blood of an animal, and when you bite it, it goes everywhere. Get it? It was her silly idea, and I laugh every time she shows with one in a bag. Making peace with the roof only started after our usual routine we'd walk was interrupted by construction workers. Thus, the first building free to our left became the spot. Months passed and we'd go on about all that we've done in our lifetime, and what all we wanted to do. Once the construction was gone, we had grown so comfortable with our eyes the stars, we decided the roof was better anyway. 

One night the impossible happened. Ginne had shown up with a dead squirrel in a bag, fresh for me as usual as we made our way up to the roof and teased each other on the way. Upon we lay our backs against the roof, we were quiet. Then it dawned upon me that we had been doing this for one hundred and fifty two years. I sat up, looking over to her in complete shock. "Ginne..?" This caught her attention, as she looked over to me "Have we run out of things to talk about?" This drew her expression blank. Her face contorted into many different emotions as she ponder on what she had to say. Then, much like a light being turned on, she had an idea. "Hey Ree...?" she said as I cocked my head to show she had my attention "What do I look like...?". She asked with such innocence that in all the time of living, I had never thought much for how I looked for I never knew. I sat back, criss-cross and on my hands "Well..." I began as she looked at me with keen interest. "You have brown hair, to start off" I chuckled, not exactly knowing where to begin. This seemed to have sparked a flame in her eyes because now she was leaning in with curiosity. "And you're eyes are-" I thought for a moment. I can get the hang of this "-Like small gems. Blue gems, deeper than sapphire. And your skin is covered in the cutest little freckles." I laugh, speaking loudly with my hands as she watched me. I could see her eyes wondering as I described her, like a child watching their dreams come true. " And it's almost like you can see little constellations in them-" again I paused, because now I wanted to say something I didn't think I ever needed to. "-Like you were given to me by the stars and they didn't want to let you go.." My voice drifts, as my eyes meet hers. "And you have the cutest button nose, and cheekbones that could render anyone speechless. Rosy cheeks that could make anyone blush, and a smile that could web worlds." Her rosy cheeks against her paper skin grew darker, as a smile spread across her lips. She giggled, watching me. I thought for sure I made things really awkward. You think knowing someone for a century and a half rids you from butterflies. I must have fallen in love with her. "And you, Ree.." she began as I awaited nervously "have the cutest messy short blonde hair, I have ever seen." she then leans in, ruffling it gratefully as she propped herself on her knees. "You're eyes are grey- BUT!" She held up a quick finger "They hold a certain tranquility. They aren't a dark grey either, instead they're light, and most pleasing to look at. Your nose is very romantic, almost comes in a sort of curve." She too used her hands to talk, but listening to her was like music. "You have very nice features, like your jawline! It's so pristine, and well cut". I noticed again, her rosy cheeks turned a deeper red. She placed her hand on mine, which had been resting in my lap. Everything happened like magic. "And I think.." she started, "If you're looking for perfection-" "-I've already found it" I interrupted her, as our lips met. I was in love with Ginne, and she was in love with me. 

And so we kissed, that night on the roof top. I would never forget that day. She was the first girl I've fallen in love with, and I was hers. And so we lived out the rest our lives that way.


	2. To write is to love, and to love is to know you're alive

To write is like being able to express emotions with the characters of history. Each word gets its own place on the page, ever flowing freely with no guilt and every heart felt emotion the writer produces. It's a secret unfelt language that holds so much more than the bounds of each key, clicking lightly on the keyboard. It can be a feeling of inspiration, sadness, guilt, or pure nostalgia. It's a power humans have learned to harvest so well, that a mere sentence can bring a smile, laughter, or tears to your expression. 

To scream out the letters with a small change of CHARATERIZATION, and the whole world knows you're yelling on white. You could give a girl a garden just by telling her that the small path wound down the ivy lined road, leading her to pansies and ever growing fields of the most incredible flowers you have ever laid your eyes upon. You could give a boy his lover, telling him that the man staring with a strawberry cream blush from across the café was indeed checking him out. Words are powerful. Being able to use English to your advantage is opening a book and not seeing pages. Instead you see wizards come to life, springing from the age of time which they have been locked in. Having imaginary worlds come to life right in front of your eyes and wondering where it has been all your life. Because in the end, books have lessons. With lessons come human thought, and with though comes remembrance, and what you remember from that book is what makes it stick out to you. A favourite. 

Being an introvert makes creating worlds makes a profession.  
I want to take you to one now. One of my own creations, a place I go to when things seem to be crowding the real world. Don't think about how, to live in a different world takes away from anything "how". 

Take a light blue sky just peaking in through the old cracked creases of a dome, embedded what should been above you. The ruins of this mysterious building leaves an odd sense of happiness amid. Upon entering, it feels homey. No worries, no pain, no suffering, just a sensational bliss that courses through you in nostalgic shivers. Sunlight peered through each crack given away from the sing song of age. Vines of several beautiful flowers make home in each chip and nook, giving a heavenly appeal to the odd surroundings. Birds happily chirped without a care in their little fantasy world, because here, we don't have to worry about what others think. Here and only here will we ever truly be at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ This was written at 2.08 am, so be warned~~


End file.
